White Dresses
by fakeditfromthewordgo
Summary: 'No doubt she'd be an incredible Iron Sister, but the idea of Isabelle's passion, her fire, being shoved in a dress, dropped into a fortress, and left without her family, her friends, seemed fundamentally wrong to Clary.' Simon/Isabelle.


"Iz," Clary said, from where she was lounging on Isabelle's bed, pencil in hand and sketchbook displayed in front of her, "where did your green dress go?"

Isabelle, flicking through her wardrobe, visibly blanched, then tried to cover it with a shrug. "What green dress?"

Clary rolled her eyes, and stood up, walking towards her. "Izzy. The velvet one. You know, the one you wore when you and Simon-"

"Don't," Isabelle said quickly, automatically, like a reflex - it had kind of become one, an immediate stop whenever he came up. Clary, who had been reaching out towards Isabelle's clothes, recoiled slightly at the harshness of her tone, and Isabelle turned to her with a sad smile. "Please. Sorry."

She shook her head, red hair bouncing. "No, my fault. Sorry." She touched Isabelle's shoulder lightly, trying to comfort her without hurting her pride. Isabelle nodded, smiling at her again without the tinge of sorrow.

Once everything was settled, and the Shadowhunters could live without constant fear for their lives, the girls had grown closer and closer, despite the original animosity between them. Simon used to say that they only became friends so none of the others would stand a chance against the pair of them. Isabelle continued to be fairly dramatic about it everything, but Clary was there to laugh at her, and bring her back to reality, while she was still incapable of jogging in heels without tripping, and they both found a best friend in each other that they'd never expected to.

Isabelle was currently in the middle of cleaning out her wardrobe, while Clary doodled seraph blades and clairvoyance runes, bored, but not bored enough to do anything important. "Whatever. Do you want this?"

"What?" Clary glanced over, a white, lacy dress that she swore was new in her hand, and snorted. Isabelle held out a red sequinned number. "No, thanks."

Isabelle pulled a face. "Yeah, you're right. It'd clash with your hair."

"Like that's the only problem," Clary replied, missing Isabelle's glare in return as she furrowed her brows at yet another white dress. "What's up with all the white, anyway?"

The girl flinched again, snatching up the cloth Clary was looking at and throwing it into the wardrobe. "White's the new black." Her voice was light, but it was forced, and Clary narrowed her eyes at her.

"Isabelle."

"What?" She threw her hands up, as if Clary was being ridiculous, then threw the rest of the clothes across the room in the vague direction of the bin bag she'd left there. "I'm trying a new colour. What's the problem?" She paused, as if waiting for an answer, then smiled tightly. "Oh, right. There isn't one." Flipping her hair behind her, she stood, and marched over to start shoving the discarded garments into the bag.

Clary sighed, following her. "Don't be like this."

"Like what?" The bag filled, and Isabelle pushed a top in with extra vigour.

"You know what," Clary said, staring at Isabelle's back. "Come on, Iz. You can talk to me."

Isabelle straightened and turned in one swift, clean movement, and Clary blinked at the unshed tears ghosting over her eyes. "I'mthinkingofbecominganironsister." It all tripped over her tongue, one long garble, and she sighed, brushing at one, escaped tear impatiently. "An Iron Sister," she repeated. "I'm thinking about becoming one."

Clary remembered what Jocelyn had told her, the way the mist surrounded the Sisters, and the white dresses made it appear as if they had become of nothing when called. Isabelle watched her, trying desperately to look brave as Clary stood, speechless.

"Are you sure?" The question surprised Isabelle, who had been waiting for the 'please don't go'.

There was no brightness in her smile. "When am I not?"

"Why?" Clary tried to understand, tried to empathise, but nothing came to her. Isabelle was happy at the Institute; being a Shadowhunter was all she'd ever wanted to do, and Jace hadn't been wrong when he said that she was the best there was. Whatever Isabelle did, she did it well, whether it was ripping a demon in half with her whip, or a glittering green dress with orange heels. No doubt she'd be an incredible Iron Sister, but the idea of Isabelle's passion, her fire, being shoved in a dress, dropped into a fortress, and left without her family, her friends, seemed fundamentally wrong to Clary.

Isabelle shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "There's nothing left for me here."

"Oh, Izzy," Clary herself felt close to tears, now. "There's everything for you here. You know that."

"No, you don't get it," Isabelle's voice was painfully calm, and Clary found herself wishing for the hysterics. "You have Jace. Alec has Magnus. My parents have their work. What do I have, Clary?"

_You could have Simon_, she thought, but she knew not to say it."Your hunting-"

Isabelle cut her off. "There's barely anything left for me to learn." There was no arrogance in her voice, and her whole body drooped slightly, like the fight was gone from her. "I'm done. I'm done fighting demons for nothing. At least with the Sisters, I'll be doing something useful."

Clary reached out, wanting to say something, to stop her, but the resigned note in her voice stopped her. She nodded slowly, seeming to take it all in. "Do you need help packing?"

* * *

"Hey," Clary smiled at her best friend, sliding into her usual seat at Java Jones. Eric moaned on in the background, and the sound almost made Clary smile. No matter what changed in their lives, this would always be the same.

Simon glanced up from his Spiderman comic, automatically grinning at the sight of her, sweeping it away. "Hey yourself. How're things?"

She didn't beat around the bush. "It's Isabelle." He winced, and she watched his face, gauging his reaction. A flicker of pain. Uncertainty.

Six months ago, he and Isabelle had been together. An actual relationship, to everyone's surprise. They'd seemed rock-solid, happy, like it came as easy to them as it did to herself and Jace. She'd teased him about it endlessly, but she'd never seen him happier.

Its end had been quick and unexpected and painful, for both of them, though Isabelle pretended it meant nothing. That they had never meant anything. Simon had been about to spend a month with Becky, since he never saw her, and he'd managed to persuade Isabelle to join them for a week. The time had come, and she hadn't gone.

They hadn't been together since, and neither of them would talk about it.

Eventually, Simon's face landed on determined, and he nodded. "What's the problem?"

* * *

Isabelle stood and squared her shoulders, turning to face Magnus and Alec, the latter of whom was pale as a sheet. "I'm ready." Magnus nodded, starting to move to stand in front of her, but Alec threw an arm out, blocking his way.

"Iz," he said, voice low. "You don't have to do this."

She smiled at him, emotionless. "I know."

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks frustratedly. "Iz-"

"Isabelle." Another voice cut him off, slightly breathless, and everyone turned to the doorway. Simon stood there, gasping for air, and for a long moment, no one spoke; the room was filled with the sound of him gulping oxygen into his lungs.

Then Isabelle smiled. "You don't have to breathe."

"Oh, right," Simon spoke normally, standing up straight, looking nervous. "I, uh, forget sometimes." Magnus stifled a laugh while Alec rolled his eyes, and Isabelle just shook her head in wonder. Even after everything they'd been through, and the fact that they'd barely talked since, this still came easily to them. "Can I talk to you?" His voice was filled with a newfound urgency.

Isabelle sighed, glancing at the other two, who just watched on. "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"It's now or never," Simon insisted. "Literally."

Isabelle's eyes closed for just a second, as if she couldn't believe this was happening, and she headed towards the door. "I'll be back in five minutes." Grabbing Simon's arm, she directed him out into the street. It was light, with a slight breeze, and Isabelle, in a thin snowy dress, shivered slightly. Simon wordlessly offered her his jacket, a soft brown leather affair that, if she remembered correctly, she had insisted he buy. She turned it away, studying the floor.

He, in turn, couldn't stop watching her, the way she was fidgeting slightly, shifting her weight from one foot to another. There was no way, he thought, she would be able to be able to mimic the Iron Sisters' methods straight off. Any type of weapon-making, he had read on the internet the night before, required insane concentration, and the ability to be completely still, every movement careful and calculated. Being a Shadowhunter had the same ideas, but they were always moving, lithe and swift, and Isabelle wouldn't adjust quickly, he knew.

"Your mom wasn't there," he said eventually, his voice even.

If Isabelle was surprised, she didn't show it. "She doesn't know. No one knows."

"I do," he said, and she rolled her eyes at the gravel.

"Clary." It wasn't a question, and he smiled. There was silence for a moment before she finally looked up, her eyes urgent and hurt and dark. "Simon, if you have something to say, just say it."

He swallowed, preparing himself to deliver the heart-wrenching speech he'd come up with last night. "Why did you leave me?" The voice was pained, almost cracking in places, and Simon wasn't sure it was his own.

"That's it?" Isabelle sounded incredulous, and Simon forced himself to look her in the eyes and nod. It hadn't been what he'd planned, but he wanted to know the answer nonetheless. She pursed her lips, like she was readying herself. "I've never been a relationships person. You know that." She laughed, the sound devoid of any humour. "Everyone knows that. And you went away, and I convinced myself I didn't need you. I'm Isabelle Lightwood, you know? I've never needed anyone." She bit her cheek, looking up at the sky like she was about to cry. "God, I was like Jace, in some ways." Her voice dropped in a mockery of the blonde teen's. "'_To love is to destroy_.' I thought being with you made me weak. Complacent." She said it as though she was swearing, but her voice cracked, and Simon stepped forward slightly.

"Izzy," he started, but she held up a hand, stopping him.

"No," she said firmly. "You wanted to know, right?" He nodded, stopping again, and she continued. "So I thought it was stupid. Leaving the Institute? For a guy? I couldn't think of anything worse." She stopped again, composing herself, and Simon resisted the urge to reach out for her. "By the time I realised I was in freaking love with you, it was way too late. So I decided to grow up. Stop being so pathetic. Be an Iron Sister."

Simon was stunned. The words hung in the air, acting as a barrier between them, and Isabelle's eyes were boring into his with a defiant intensity he'd never seen before. He was reminded for a moment of the time she'd shouted at Jocelyn:_ Isabelle rarely makes speeches, but when she does, they matter._ "You're in love with me?"

"I was," she amended quickly, shaking her head. "So, whatever you have to say, just say it. I'm done, Simon. I'm going to go make something of myself."

Something about the way she stood, so strong, reminded him of the way a little kid tried to look brave, and something in Simon's heart broke. "Iz." He paused, shook his head. "_Isabelle_. You don't need to be anything." She pulled a face, but didn't say anything, and Simon took this as a cue to continue. "I'm not good at speeches, okay? All I'm good at is reading comics. But that's fine. That's good." She half-smiled, and he stepped forward again, the distance between them closing. "You're you, Iz. That's enough, for anyone. And if not..." He searched for the words, then gave up. "Screw them."

She grinned, so out of place that Simon almost retraced that step. "God, what is this, a Disney movie?"

"You watch Disney movies?"

They were kissing before she could answer, her hands in his hair, his crushing her to him, as if it was the last time they'd ever touch. They pulled away, and his eyes searched her face.

"I love you."

She smiled sadly. "I love you, too." Moving away from his arms, she stepped backwards, towards Magnus' apartment. "But I'm still going."

"Isabelle, please-"

"No more emotional stuff, please," she held up her hands. "I'll come back."

Simon's jaw dropped, just slightly. "Is that possible?"

She shrugged. "It will be." If anyone could do it, it was Isabelle. Even so, Simon's eyes were sad, and she sighed, moving back and resting her hands lightly on his shoulders. "Look, you're right. I don't need to be anyone. But I want to try, anyway." She smiled, and she seemed to sparkle, glowing with contentedness. "I was going to stay, but there's this one vampire back in Brookyln who would never forgive me."

Simon frowned. "Is he cute?" Isabelle laughed, stepping back from him for the final time. She nodded, raising a hand in farewell as she went to re-enter the apartment. Then she stopped, turning back.

"Hey, Simon?"

"Iz."

"I might miss you." Then she was gone, the sound of the door shutting the only proof that she'd been there. Simon gazed at it for a while, smiling to himself, before pulling out his phone, and dialling a number.

"Hey, Clary? Yeah, no, she's _fine_. Trust me."


End file.
